


Anatomy of a Dream Thing

by pixelk1



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Pack, F/M, M/M, The Dream Thieves Spoilers, kavinsky and his pack of dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelk1/pseuds/pixelk1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prokopenko can't tell if he is or was a real person, all he knows is that he died and lived again all thanks to Kavinsky.<br/>Swan is disturbed by his similarities to Prokopenko but after Proko started hanging out with Kavinsky, he feels like he's been tossed aside in favour of the other boy. Jiang is there to pick up the pieces.<br/>(Takes part before and during the events of The Dream Thieves and focuses on the dynamics of the Dream Pack.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy of a Dream Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is certainly the most mature fanfiction I've written. Wow someone needs to wash these boys mouths out with soap.  
> Because there just arent enough Dream Pack fics. Because Swan and Prokopenko have matching cars. Because my love for Prokopenko and Swan is infinite. Also, since I'm posting this on a certain eve; MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMALS.

It had not _exactly_ been Kavinskys fault.  
Prokopenko inspected the pads of his fingers where his finger prints should have been. In place of the prints was, well, nothing. Nothing at all. Each individual pad was perfectly smooth.

  
"Constantine!" someone roared from behind him. He turned, a new scowl plastered across his face. There where three people allowed to call him his first name and Swan was definitely not one of them.

  
"Fuck, what do you want now?" Prokopenko asked.

  
Swan lopped across the yard towards him, all gangly limbs and easy smiles. He pulled the snap-back from his head and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. From an outsiders eyes they looked almost exactly the same, aside from the fact that where Swan was comparable to a flexiable elastic, Prokopenko was streached tight and ready to snap back. "Your _High_ ness is looking for you," he sang.

  
Prokopenko rolled his eyes and pushed off from where he had been leaning against his Golf. "What does K want?"

  
"Fuck if I know," Swan shurgged. "He's probably getting bored of being ignored by Lynch so he wants to..." He tilted his hips forward in a suggestive manner and Proko snorted, but started towards the house anyway.

  
The house was mostly empty, as it was stil fairly early in the morning but a hip-hop beat still thrummed through the walls with indistinguishable lyrics. Proko pushed open the door to the kitchen and found Kavinsky sitting at the kitchen table slowly eating cereal. Proko leaned against the door jamb and thrust his chin out in a single nod.

  
Kavinskys face instantly broke into a grin and Proko noted his blown out pupils. "Hello Constantine."

  
"Prokopenko," he insisted. "Please." It was barely ten in the morning and he had already had to hear that wretched name twice. If anyone else dared utter it that had he would have a hernia.

  
"Okay, okay. So? Any clues?" Kavinsky asked.

  
Prokopenko held out his hand, palm out, fingers splayed. "No prints."

  
Kavinsky's eyes flicked from Proko's hand and then back up to his face. He beckoned with his spoon in his left hand and held out the other.

  
Proko sank into the adjacent chair and allowed Kavinsky to grasp his wrist and hand. He vaguely felt as if he was about to have his palm read to him.

  
Kavinsky's tongue flicked across his lips and he swallowed thickly. "I've stolen so many dreams but you have been the hardest to pin down."

  
Prokopenko exhaled, "What about Swan?"

  
Kavinsky chuckled. "Ah, your wonder twin has had his moments but it is harder to perfect original works. Much easier when you have something to base your dream thing on," He ran a finger over the blank finger tips.

  
Prokopenko exhaled sharply out his nose. "So you admit it?"

  
Kavinsky ignored the question and Proko balled his hand into a fist. "I wasn't always a dream thing?"

  
"Of course not," Kavinsky said. "You still have your memories, don't you?"

  
Prokopenko curled and uncurled his fist, "I think so? They feel more like I'm watching myself watch my memories. Like a home video. But yeah. I have some memories."

  
"Have you ever asked Swan where he came from? Where was he born? Where did he go to school before Aglionby?" Kavinsky asked. "That's the genius of it!"

  
Prokopenko attempted to retract his hand but Kavinsky held it fast. "Proko, wait. You have to understand. You're my masterpiece. Sure you have a few flaws but you're still mine. The first Prokopenko was...problematic."

  
He closed his eyes and tried to forget Kavinsky's face. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't seem to hate him but he couldn't tell if it was his actual thoughts or if that was how Kavinsky had made him. He thought about the way he had died, the way the first Prokopenko had died. Two mixed up pills had caused a deadly combination. Proko had been warned. It had been Kavinsky who gave him the pills _but it hadn't been Kavinsky's fault._

  
Proko opened his eyes and saw that Kavinsky had let go of his arm to continue eating his cereal. There was nothing he could do now. He was Kavinsky's and probably would be for the rest of his life.


End file.
